


Weathering the Storm

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Carry On Countdown, Crying, M/M, Shepard POV, Sledding, Slightly - Freeform, Snow, Storms, and again to the future, at least, flashback to childhood, slight themes of elemental mage simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Shepard was nine when he first met a boy he'd learn was Simon Snow.He was in a ditch crying, and Shepard wasn't sure what to make of him.This boy lived in his mind until he saw him again years later.And today, when there's a storm unlike any other in London, he knows who must be at the center of it.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Shepard & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Weathering the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Liz](http://tumblr.com/blog/foolofabookwyrm) and [Sconey](http://tumblr.com/blog/scone-lover) for beta reading this. It means the world <3
> 
> Now with [art](https://nick-eyre.tumblr.com/post/640022756131504128/happy-birthday-to-the-amazing-caitybuglove23-i) from [Nick](http://tumblr.com/blog/nick-eyre)

Shepard

I was nine when I met him the first time. 

It was the worst snow we’d ever seen in Omaha. Schools had been cancelled, houses lost power, grocery stores were completely out of bread and eggs. 

_But I was determined to have fun._

I grabbed my sled, my snow boots, and a turkey sandwich before running out of the house. 

(My mom shouted at me to be careful, and to stay on the agreed-upon route.)

(I did- for the most part.) (But if I never strayed, I’d never have adventures, would I?)

There was a huge hill nearby, and I was determined as _fuck_ to get there first.

The fresh snow, fluffy and waiting (wanting to be flattened by a group of kids on sleds).

It was _marvelous._

(It came up to my knees, but it was great.) (Even more so because it was so high.)

The snow was still falling in waves. The weathermen had no idea how much more snow we’d get. (5-15 inches is their guess now.) (Bit of a wide range, to be truthful. But I think they were just covering their asses.)

I threw my sled down at the top of the hill and let myself enjoy it for a moment. 

With the solid sheet of snow covering the streets, the sidewalks, the trees- it felt like I could see the entire world.

And I was on top of it. 

I took a deep breath and backed up before taking a running start and leaping on the sled. 

(It didn’t go anywhere the first time—snow was too high. But I tried again. And again. And then—I was off.)

I laughed, I whooped, I smiled through all the snow flying in my face.

It was great.

(Little can compare to the joy of a kid on a snow day.) (My mother says that being a teacher on a snow day is somehow even better. I can’t even imagine.)

There was a ditch at the bottom of the hill and about two-thirds down, I realized I was heading straight for it.

I dug my feet into the snow next to the sled, trying my best to stop it.

(But it was too late.)

I spun and then fell in with a crash, landing right on my ass. 

I was panting, mouth still curled up in a smile.

(Despite the fear, it was fucking exhilarating.)

I sat up, brushing the snow off of me, when I saw him.

He was sitting on the other side of the ditch. A small bit of water flowed between us. (Or, well, would have if it weren’t frozen.)

I furrowed my brows, trying to get a closer look. 

He wasn’t wearing a coat. His pants looked torn and worn.

He looked… frightened. 

“Hello?” I asked wearily. I stood up, taking a step closer.

His head shot up and looked me in the eyes.

(I swear it was like they were on fire.)

I remember jumping back, taking more of him in. 

There was a ring around him of perfectly kept grass. As if the whole world wasn’t completely crumbling due to the snow around him. 

A flower grew near his right ankle. 

I didn’t realize exactly what it was at the time. I assumed my eyes were just young (I hadn’t gotten glasses yet) and weren’t seeing straight.

I know now that his edges were blurred.

(Magic.)

(I also didn’t know _that_ at the time. But I suspected. I wondered.)

(I was _nine_ and I had met a strange person in a ditch.)

(I was never good at listening to my mother when she said not to speak to strangers.)

I took another step closer, trying to act calm and comforting. 

“My name is Shepard, what’s yours?” I asked carefully.

As I got closer I saw tears streaming down his cheeks. A bruise was purpling on his arm. 

(I wondered if he had fallen in, too.)

I picked up a red ball from the ground.

(It was mine from a few weeks before. Decided it was long gone when Catherine had thrown it too hard and it flew into the ditch.) (Figured I may as well grab it while I was there.)

He sniffled, not responding. 

I stepped closer and sat down three feet in front of him. 

“Are you okay?” I asked softly. 

He buried his head in his arms again, sobbing uncontrollably.

At the same moment, the snow started to pick up. 

I panicked. His skin looked pink, he was crying _so damned loud_ , and the snowfall was only increasing.

I didn’t know what to do.

_I was only nine._

I reached into my bag and held out my—

“Do you want my sandwich?” I asked (shouted, practically.)

The snow froze.

(I thought _that_ might be my eyes too, for a moment.)

After a second he looked up. His eyes were red and puffy, tears were still coming down his cheeks.

I reached into his space, and felt warmth. (No snow was falling around him.)

He reached forward and grabbed my sandwich. 

This boy opened up the bag and ate like he’d never been fed. 

“I’m Shepard,” I repeated. I was smiling. (I probably shouldn’t have been. But he was so interesting! I couldn’t help myself.) “What’s your name?”

He took his last ravaging bite of his sandwich and examined me. 

“Simon,” he muttered around his bite. “Simon Snow.”

I chuckled.

He gave me a weird look. 

“Sorry- it’s just,” I shifted to a more comfortable position, picking up the plastic bag as I moved. “It’s snowing! And you’re Simon Snow, and for some reason, the place where you’re sitting is the only place the snow isn’t.”

I continued laughing.

He looked around before cracking a smile himself.

I shifted closer. 

“Why are you in this ditch?”

Simon looked around him again, as if he’d only _just_ realized that he was there in the first place.

“Er–” he stammered. “‘M not sure.”

It’s then that I heard the accent.

“Wait! Where are you from?” I asked, excitedly.

Definitely _not_ Omaha, that’s for sure.

(I was excited by _anything_ not from Omaha then.)

(In some ways, I still am.)

He shrugged. “Lancashire.”

I smiled bright. “ _Cool_ ,” I breathed. (I could see it in the air—my breath.)

I had no clue where Lancashire was at the time, but I searched it later- on my computer.

(Judging by the accent, I assumed England.)

I tossed him the red ball in my hand, standing up. 

“Do you want to play?” I asked. 

He looked up at me like I was crazy. (I wasn’t sure why.) (Now I wonder if it’s because he hadn’t been asked before.) (To play, that is.)

“Er-”

“We can sled!” I pointed to my sled hanging off the edge. “But you’ll need better clothes.” I frowned. 

I looked up at the top of the ditch. It’s not hard to get out (just gotta pull yourself up by a few well placed branches, and you’re scot-free.)

“I’ve got extra clothes at home.” I reached out my hand to help him up. “If you’d like.”

He looked at my hand. (Examined it, more or less.)

“At the very least, you should get out of this ditch before you freeze to death.” 

Simon looked at my hand hesitantly before giving in with a huff. He grabbed my hand and I could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

(Maybe he _didn’t_ need the clothes.)

The snow was still frozen in place around us.

“Follow me!” I said excitedly.

I grabbed the first branch, pulling myself up. Two more and I was out. 

I turned around, expecting to see him holding on by a branch– but he wasn’t…

_He was gone._

(At the time I was confused.) (But also angry that the fucker took my red ball.)

_The snow stopped after that._

(The weathermen had a field day. They couldn’t explain _any_ of it.)

Guess there’s not much science in magic.

+++

When I met him again (also in Omaha), it took me a while to recognize him.

He wasn’t the small, scared boy I met in a ditch. Though, in some ways, that same child still lives in him.

(It was the way he ate food that finally made me realize. Still starving for _something_ \- eating like food might stop existing one day.) (Maybe he was afraid it might.)

But when I did– I wondered if he recognized me too.

(I still look fairly similar. Just have the glasses now.)

But– I don’t think he did.

So I kept quiet.

Until, that is, London was in the midst of a huge storm.

+++

“Shepard!” Penny shouts at me as I try to leave the apartment. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go check on Simon!” I reply.

I know it’s him. There’s no other explanation. 

She grabs me by the arm.

(If there’s one thing that will grab her attention, it’s Simon. _Especially_ if she thinks he is in danger.)

“What’s wrong with Simon?” She asks.

I look at the window. There’s hail hitting the pane.

(A tornado had ripped through part of the city earlier today.) (The weathermen couldn’t explain it. The UK doesn’t _get_ tornadoes like this.)

(Hopefully they just chalk it up to climate change.)

“Look,” I start. “I don’t have time to explain it all— but… I know this is him.” I point to the window. 

She looks me up and down.

I can read the thoughts pouring through her brain. 

Penelope is a woman of many questions. She likes to have the facts in order—to _know_ what is happening. 

And there’s one big question plastered on her face.

A statement, a thought, a _fact_ we all know.

_Simon Snow can’t cause storms anymore._

“I’ll grab my jacket,” she says, not bringing up what she clearly wants to. 

(Because even _she_ will put knowledge aside in Simon’s case.)

We dart out the door, starting for the first place we can think of. 

+++

When we arrive at their apartment (Baz and Simon’s), Penelope is huffing and I’m sweating through my jackets.

(We don’t slow down, though.)

I move to open the door, but Penelope spells it unlocked first. 

I lift up a key. “Was that completely–”

“Hush–” she says, pushing past me. 

She opens her mouth (I presume to shout for Simon), but stops in her tracks. 

Simon and Baz are on the balcony. Simon’s on his knees, head in his hands. (Just like all those years ago.)

Baz is mimicking his position, gingerly holding a hand out. 

The rain doesn’t touch them.

(Either of them.)

We step closer, silently.

Baz holds a hand out to us, stopping us from moving any closer. 

(Must have heard us.)

(Maybe even _smelled_ us.)

“Love,” he whispers. (I can only _just_ make it out.) “Your parents–”

“I killed them–” Simon sobs.

Penelope and I look at each other. Her eyes are wide. 

“No, Simon, you didn’t.” Baz reaches forward, moving a hand from Simon’s face.

(He lets him.)

“You didn’t kill your mother–”

“She died though. She died giving birth to me. Because of _who I am_ , Baz.” He sobs more, looking into Baz’s eyes.

I see Baz wipe a tear from his face.

Penelope sniffles next to me.

I reach for her hand. 

The rain outside is frozen in place.

(Just like all those years ago.)

“And, and–” Simon stutters. “The Mage–”

“Was never your father.”

“Baz, he was–”

Penelope gasps next to me.

“Not where it _counted_ , Simon.”

I look at Penelope and back at the scene before us. 

“The Mage was his _father_ ,” Penelope whispers beside me. 

“But-but-”

“No, Simon,” Baz interrupts. His voice is fierce and strong. I can see a tear rolling down his cheek as he speaks. “Listen to me.” 

Simon opens his eyes and looks at Baz, mouth open to say more, but not daring to let a word pass. 

“You deserved parents that loved you the way you deserved to be loved,” Baz continues. “The Mage treated you like nothing more than a soldier. A weapon, even.” 

Baz leans forward, pressing his forehead against Simon’s.

“You’re so much more than that, Simon,” he mutters. “He never saw you for all of the beauty you are.” I pull Penelope close to me, letting her cry on my shoulder. “All of the beauty you were going to be.” 

There’s a pause. A moment when I think Simon is going to reply, but doesn’t.

“Let me help you,” Baz continues. “Let me share this with you, and help you through it.”

Simon nods, reaching forward, putting his hands on Baz’s arms.

They look into each other’s eyes and I see Baz nod.

Simon sighs and closes his eyes. 

It’s hard to notice, but being surrounded by mages as much as I am—I can tell a slight change.

The way some of the static around Simon moves. How Baz’s arms clench in response.

How the thunder stops, the rain ceases.

The clouds start to clear, slowly. 

_They’re sharing._

I whisper to Penelope that we should go, that Baz has it handled. She hesitates, but agrees.

(It feels too private to intrude on.)

When we close the door behind us, I hear one last phrase from Baz.

“It’s okay, Love.”

+++

The storm passes after that, confusing all weathermen, and leaving us with another mystery at the end of the day.

_Simon Snow still has his magic._

(But that’s a story for another day.)

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Weathering the Storm [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862040) by [Bloodiedpixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodiedpixie/pseuds/Bloodiedpixie)




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